Time & Choice

All Things Are Held in Balance

My sister said that my father's last words to her were "I love you. I forgive you. Take care of Mama." The only response I got from my father when I arrived, was a huge smile as I showed him our new baby, Hannah and as he saw his only grandchildren round about his hospice bed. I remember that smile. He was very happy to see his grandchildren but very tentative about me. It was the same expression he had after he had a spell of anger with me, after he beat me or after he raised his voice at me to call me some very ugly labels. It was as if he didn't know whether he should show tenderness after one of those "incidents" or just carry on pretending nothing had happened. I know that look only too well. And as it has always been through the decades, I've learned to compartmentalize these uncomfortable moments. In this case, my heart told me that my Papa was weak and exhausted from the pain of his cancer and the haze of his morphine pack.

My father left the country after Uncle Baq*, a judge, called to tell him that there was a warrant for his arrest. It was 1988. President Marcos was no longer in power. Consequently, all of my father's friends in high places were also in limbo, escaped to other countries or were in hiding. There would be no one who held enough power to get him off the hook this time.

In 1971 or 72, my father was arrested for rape. He made the front page of The Manila Times. The next day, the newspaper would publish a retraction. The consequences of that event were huge. It was claimed that it was a case of mistaken identity or extortion on the part of the accuser. But we all knew the accusation was true. We all knew he was guilty. But we all quietly accepted the lie. It would become the culture of our family to live with the lies of all our overall dysfunction. We would all rise to the occasion pretending that we were the picture of a perfect Mormon family. We all bought and sold the lie. 

Sometimes, I'm surprised that we joined the Mormon church because my mother never mentioned God, talked to us about God nor taught us how to pray. I only saw her at church when we visited her mother in Bulacan. My Papa, on the other hand, had parents who attended the Methodist church regularly. His mother, my paternal grandmother, Dolores, told me Bible stories, taught me to pray and took me to church on many occasions. In fact, I attended Kindergarten at the Cosmopolitan church, a Methodist church they attended. I still remember the name of the pastor. Pastor Rigos was a handsome, charismatic man. My father attended the Philippine Christian College-Union High School but was, by no means, a religious man by my childhood observation.

Joining the Church was fortuitous. It changed our lives. For one, my father, by a miracle, never drank nor smoked again. So the nights when he would come home drunk, having lost most of what my mother made by gambling (Jai-alai, was one of his favourite things to do with his cadre of fellow drunks and rich friends...) would stop. We finally had something we could all be part of, as a family. We had a schedule. In those early days of the church, we had events every single day- whether it was simply the missionaries visiting our home or the many meetings and activities related to growing and organizing the church in the Philippines. But whatever it was, our family was at least heavily involved if not at the helm of each activity and historical event.

I think my father sincerely wanted to be part of the Church...I think he really believed in its principles. And his conversion story is miraculous. It was also very obvious to me that my mother took to its precepts with great familiarity. She studied the Book of Mormon constantly and deeply. She believed in revelation. And I really believe that she received very personal revelations. My mother was a very spiritual person. The Church saved us. Its precepts saved me and continues to be beacon in my life. And the story of our family is a perfect example of how choices affect others...how other peoples' choices can limit or amplify our own choices as well as our own. It is also a perfect study of how our choices can affect the choices of many generations to come and, to the extent of our limited understanding, even affect those who have come before us. Time is a man-made construct anyway so to even imagine time as non-linear is moot. It has to be one eternal round... or a concept that knows no past nor future; one that our finite mortal intelligence cannot comprehend.

That one night, when my Papa fled the country, he proceeded directly to Ellen's home in San Francisco where they had a very emotional conversation. Ellen was always able to talk to Papa in a more "open" manner. I have to digress here and explain why she could talk to Papa and I couldn't. While I was on my mission, she left BYU-Hawaii before she could participate in commencement exercises. I was very stunned at the immediacy of her departure. But that is another story. Consequently, she  was able to live at home as an "adult".  She eventually married a man who turns out was already previously married. Again, that's another sordid story. But the point is, Ellen went through so much and she went through those experiences with my father in the sidelines ready to rescue her and in many instances, have emotional confrontations complete with my father pointing a loaded gun at her. They had established a relationship that was tremendously full of drama but at least, they could talk to each other freely and openly--a kind of interaction that I did not have with my father. Primarily, the reason was because I was simply too afraid of Papa. Ellen had no fear of him. She was always more unafraid of things than I was.

On that first day with Ellen, there were many words exchanged. Emotions were strong, random, incomprehensible. My father, desperate, alone, trapped in a prison of his own making, suddenly separated from all his cronies and support, found himself feeling helpless with nowhere to go. After so many years of dangerous and criminal behaviour, he finally got caught. Suddenly, even his own daughter could not offer him refuge nor emotional support. After their exchange of words, my sister heard him sobbing in his room. Later, in the middle of the night, he would leave. I don't know where he went but when Ellen told me about this, my heart ached. It's been over 30 years since he passed but being told about this moment in his life suddenly made him human. My father was just human. It's not new information. But father and human don't seem to mix naturally. And as sons and daughters, it's a conscious realization on our part to decide to see our parents as humans just trying to do their best and as such, worthy of honour and respect. Because being a parent is the most sublime and sacred effort that requires responsibility and almost super human patience. 

Sometimes, the consequences of choices others make, hold us ransomed until they can undo the damages they caused by their choices. My oldest daughter and her husband both accused me of being emotionally abusive. They also stated that they have no trust in me and therefore will not ever leave their children alone with me. It's been over two years since this happened and I still cannot bring myself to have a normal conversation with either of them for fear that I may be saying something offensive. And my heart, broken to pieces, began to build walls and reinforcement to defend myself from  more anticipated  harsh and unfair accusations. This is another story. Because of the choices she made, perhaps to protect herself from the reality that her husband is manipulative and abusive, my heart is paralyzed and my choices have become limited. Our interpersonal relationship as mother and daughter has been held in ransom. None of the past instances when we could talk about so many things even helped me nor her restore what once was an open and easy relationship. The strain is slowly killing me. But my hands are tied until the damages that her accusations have made can be repaired. So I feel desperate, alone and unable to move forward. And the pain is like a death by a thousand cuts.

As a mother, I understand how my parents feel when we cannot offer the support nor reaction that they need. My papa wanted us to accept him as he is...he wanted us to forget his bad choices and see him simply as our father...our Papa who loves us. I do understand that after doing all they can do within the limitations of their experience, knowledge, culture and other mitigating factors, they sincerely did their best to become good parents and good people. But what if their choices are so catastrophic and the consequences so dire that the damage over time results in a compounding depreciation of their children's ability to maintain a healthy relationship? It is not an easy task because even if one arrives at that empathetic level where the problem becomes clear, getting to the point where one can actually know what to do and then execute that act are two different challenges. And each step can be brutally exacting depending on the damage. In my case, the constant beatings, humiliation, victimization, emotional manipulations through the decades resulted in so much damage that my relationships with my father, my mother and my only sister can only be described as dysfunctional, obtuse and triggering. As of this writing, I still do not know how to talk to my sister without triggering her or being triggered. And though I realize what is happening at the time it is happening, I have no idea how to replace my behaviour. And its not because I haven't tried either. And yet, the guilt I feel is so paralyzing, so stupefying, so destructive because I feel that I know better. I do understand. And yet, I can't catch up. So I cleave to the concepts of the Atonement and its infinite quality.

I made very decisive choices as to how I was going to parent my children. I knew in principle that the best way I can parent is to love my husband. I knew that I cannot react as my parents have modeled to me. That means that my mind needs an extra second to think first. Thankfully, I can speak 3 languages and that made all the difference. I have to raise my children in my 2nd language. English only. No tagalog. I knew there would be consequences to my children not learning my native tongue because language carries culture. I will have to leave that to God. Speaking English gave me the tool to recreate a new familial culture where I can say "I love you", tell them how awesome they are, create a relationship where they can talk to me about their feelings without fear and make gospel-speak normal. Of course, I made an enormous amount of mistakes because I can be emotional and passionate about things. But talking about mistakes was also something I wanted to be second nature. I may not have succeeded but I do know that I have no guilt about the amount of effort it took for me to try. And try. And try. I gave it my everything.

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"Children, obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right. Honor your father and mother,” which is the first commandment with promise: “that it may be well with you and you may live long on the earth.” (Ephesians 6:1)

Honour thy father and thy mother: that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee. (Genesis 20:12)

“Let your father and mother be glad; lether who bore you rejoice.” (Proverbs 23:22-25)

My son, hear the instruction of thy father, and forsake not the law of thy mother: For they shall be an ornament of grace unto they head, and chains about thy neck. (Proverbs 1:8-9)

As one whom his. mother comforted, so will I comfort you; and ye shall be comforted in Jerusalem. (Isaiah 66:13)

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If there is a sure way that I can be demolished by my children, the sure way to do it would be to accuse me of abuse. I never ever expected this to happen to me considering all I have tried to do. And yet, here I stand boldly and harshly accused. How can I defend myself?  I can't. Because such is my daughter's truth. And I am gutted.

I wish that I know now what I didn't know back in 1989, the year my Papa died. He waited until we were all involved playing together as a family when he passed; as if to say that he'd rather slip away unseen than have everybody witness his passing. Like that one night when he escaped arrest and flew to SFO....and left in the middle of the night, gutted and alone, feeling oh so abandoned. My sister heard my Papa sobbing that night. I have never seen my father cry. How I wish I had hugged him and told him that no matter what he has done, that he is still my father and I love him and respect him. How I wish I could have given him assurance that no matter how much hurt I bear, that I forgive him and love him. But I was clueless and damaged..with no tools in my belt to fix the situation. But in order to appreciate the depth and breadth of his efforts, failures, guilt, lack of tools, burdens and baggage, I had to experience being a parent. My Papa has been gone for over 30 years. It took that long. And like karma, my own daughter had to give me that experience by her accusations...as well as a couple of in-laws. I KNOW I am not an abusive mother because I know what abuse is. But I do know that I can go down the rabbit hole of fear, imagination and the effects of my baggage. I can be overbearing. I can be passionately overprotective. My panic and fears can take me to crazy places where reason and common sense do not exist. And so...yes, I can hurt my children's feelings just by sheer over-reaction. But abuse? My conscience tells me I am definitely NOT abusive. But my heart bears so much hurt that I sob almost everyday. And I want to punish myself. The guilt I feel is exquisite because now I feel my parents' "revenge". I feel that I deserve no love from any of my children and I my doubts about their love for me are so real that they beg proof.

Ellen and Papa drove to see me in our little apartment in Henderson, NV. I was pregnant with Hannah and had 3 small children in a 2 bedroom apartment as we started a new life in Nevada. I had the advantage of knowing why my father was suddenly in the US...alone and without any plans nor preparations. He was really at our mercy. Literally. That night, he and I had a conversation. I asked him if it was true: if he really had sexually assaulted women. I do not remember exactly what his response was but I remember that he responded in the affirmative. I had already rehearsed in my head how I would respond so I told him that he needed help both professional and ecclesiastical. He defensively said he didn't need to seek any help and just needed to wait for Mama to join him. My heart and my mind were so full of emotion; confusion, unbridled fear, pride, shock, indignation, anger, disgust, shame, guilt....so many emotions. Except love. Every emotion except love. When I told him he will not see any of his grandchildren unless he seeks help, his response was "then you are dead to me". I don't remember much what happened later. All I remember is that they left. And I didn't talk to my father again. For months. Even after my mother joined him. The next time I would talk to him was when he called to tell me he had liver cancer. He would pass in December of 1989.

My thoughts often go back to that night when he sat in front of me in that small apartment. I felt every emotion but love. And I weep at the ignorance and emotional density of that young 34 year old mother. She couldn't even choose to simply love her father. I don't think she even thought of love as a possible option. I know that she knew that love is really a choice. Yet in retrospect, that knowledge could not rise above her baggage. I am now almost 67 years old and just now understanding the personal impact that the sequence of the Ten Commandments have on my life right now. The first 3 commandments pertain to the relationship we have with God. The 4th commandment pertains to how we can be enriched when we keep the Sabbath day holy. The 5th commandment pertains to our relationship with our parents. The rest pertain to our comportment with other humans. This is a sacred order: God, Self, Parents, Others. There is a hierarchy of importance involved because this is the way to gain proper momentum for our spiritual gain. And generationally, it makes sense that the direction has to be from ancestors....down to our parents to children. The cumulative effects of choices flows downward. Our role and birthright as children of our parents, is to become better parents, better people than our parents ever were...and to maximize the blessings and sacrifices that our parents made in our behalf. If we can't do that, we dishonour our parents. If we can right the wrongs of our parents as we see them, we become part of their accomplishments. It has to flow this direction because we cannot improve the past...only the future. 

My father used to visit me frequently in my dreams. Once, during a lucid dream, he told me he had something important to tell me. I responded with skepticism and said, "Papa, how will I know if its really you or if this is just a product of my subconscious mind?". Then he answered me with a joke. I can't repeat the joke because it is a pun on words in English and Tagalog but I could not have made it up. It was pure Papa. His jokes were always that corny and we used to laugh out loud during those moments when Papa was just the most wonderful company. He was funny, charming, smart and witty. He would laugh from his belly ever so free and boisterous that we couldn't help but laugh as well even when his jokes were so ridiculously corny. Finally, I told him "Ok, now I know it's really you!". Then told me his message: "Christie, remember that whatever you do affects all of us here." I did not realize the gravity of his words until my own daughter accused me of abuse. Because it was important to me that I gave it my all, gave up so much just so the outcome of my mothering would not be the same as how my parents treated me. I know with all my heart that I did not ever hit them, call them names nor manipulated them in order to humiliate them. Yet all my efforts, all my sacrifice, all my pain...were in vain because I still failed. I am a failure.

Understanding now what my father needed during that those last months of his life results in so much sorrow, remorse and pain. Why couldn't I feel just love? What was the overwhelming emotion that I felt during those times? As I think and reflect, I realized that it was simply fear that blanketed all other emotions. Through the years of abuse, I had learned to compartmentalize...to detach... to feel nothing. It is still my defense of choice. I could not react with love perhaps because my father's choices had left me with so very little choices to work with. Perhaps my relationship with my parents did not develop in such a way that I could be confident enough to choose outside the sphere of my capability or imagination. Perhaps the choice to just love and forgive him was simply too remote from my reach. Nevertheless, I grieve, I feel remorse and pain for being so blind and clueless to other possibilities....that the idea that I can be extraordinary did not occur to me. Perhaps if I prayed more. Perhaps if I were closer to the Spirit I could have chosen better. I will always rue the loss of the what-could-have-been. I could have just shown love. I could have just opened my heart and helped my father no matter what he had done. Because I know that he did all he could do...he gave all his best within all the limitation of his humanness. But most of all, I could have simply shown him love and forgiveness. It was simply a choice that I did not see. They simply were not in my personal toolbox. I am found wanting.

To honour my father and my mother simply means to love and respect them. And more than anything, I honour them by the life I continue to live because I know that all that I will ever do whilst here on earth will affect them wherever they are. All I can do is live my life the best I can. What more can I do for them but be the best I can be? I know that when Ellen heard my Papa sobbing that night, that he was feeling as lost, dejected and unloved just as I felt when Tascha, told me that I was abusive, capable of gaslighting and unable to see how I am harming my children. And so my heart still breaks for my Papa. I yearn to hug him, tell him I love him no matter what he has done. Because that is what I yearn to have from my children despite the fact that I KNOW I was not abusive.

I hope that my children will  be better than I ever was in honouring my parents. If indeed I was abusive, then I seek nothing more from my children. It is enough that they have good lives and are followers of Christ, raising their children in the Lord's way. It is enough that they have chosen extraordinary spouses and that their children are healthy and happy. I hope that they can choose love and forgiveness without so much consternation, nor doubt, nor fear. And this is how we take full advantage of one of the many gifts of the atonement: the restorative powers. As we freely and consciously forgive our parents’ frailties, faults and baggage that affected their choices especiallly in how they worked to raise us, we honour their efforts, not their lacks. And that forgiveness flows back to their parents’ flawed efforts, and theirs parents and their parents’ parents and so on until the restorative powers of our forgiveness flows even laterally, to all those who have influenced our ancestors even until the beginning. It is a restoration and amplification of our ancestors’ limited understanding and visions. Restoration has to flow that way because it is not just logical but true in a temporal world where time is linear. Forgiveness has power. Forgiveness has restorative powers. And that is our small gift and service made possible by the Atonement of Jesus Christ. As we forgive, we activate these gifts.

5 ¶ Behold, I will send you Elijah the prophet before the coming of the great and dreadful day of the 

Lord

:6 And he shall turn the heart of the fathers to the children, and the heart of the children to their fathers, lest I come and smite the earth with a curse  As our hearts turn towards our parents to provide these restorative blessings to them by way of giving them honour by forgiveness, they too turn their hearts to us in gratitude and love. Just as my father said to me, “everything you do there affects all of us here”. He made sure I remember that. But the puzzle pieces did not snap in place until recently.
The choices we make can amplify or limit the choices that others make. The direction that these choices move as we live our earthly life is generational....from ancestors to parents to children. The hierarchy of the commandments also flow in the order that  perhaps may be eternal - from God, to ourselves, to our parents and to others. These are the things I have learned that I wish my children to know and understand. Because earthly life is really about choices. The ability to choose what is right can sometimes be elusive when our hearts are filled with tears, with hurt and pain. So I wish you, my children, enough time to be able to choose the right; to have the clarity of mind to see far off and to choose love. Most of all, honour your father and mother that your days may be long. Don't wait until it is too late for your heart to be tender. Because everything you will do on this beautiful earth will affect me and your Dad even after we pass through the veil.

Me at 62

I made this meme when my heart was broken.

*Uncle Baq is Leonardo Baquizal, an attorney who went to law school at Howard University. He became a judge but also had some dementia in the end. He was always very kind to me. He was married to my mother's oldest sister, Editha, or, Auntie Edi. She is the oldest of 4 sisters namely, Editha, Priscila (my mama), Nieva and Evelina or "Lina". They also have a 5th sibling; a brother, Antonio Veloira, an artist and a drunk. He passed away long before my mama passed, from cancer.Uncle Baq and Auntie Edi have three children who are my first cousins. April or "Gigi" as we call her, Karen and Athena who, for some cruel reason was called Popoy from the time she was a baby....after Popoy Dakoykoy, a male comedian known for being chubby. Auntie Nieva and Uncle Ador have four sons: Nelson, Paul, Peter and Patrick del Rosario. Auntie Lina and Uncle John have one daughter, Cristina Sadek. I do not know Uncle Tony's children. I find that extremely sad. But that's another sordid story.

Uncle Baq's grandfather was literally an ex-priest (Probably either  a Gallego or a Basque) from Spain which makes him at least 1/4 Spaniard

Seated in order of birth: Editha Baquizal, Priscila de Rama and Nieva del Rosario. all nee' Veloira
Taken at Mama's Care Facility. She had vascular dementia but recognized me. Although she thought Ellen was me as well. She just waited to see me and Ellen together and then passed that same night.

My parents grave located in Irvington, CA